It's true - I am exactly like Anthony Bourdain, only Jewish, not that funny or charismatic, and I don't like eating goose anus, or whatever it is he eats.
But I enjoy cooking, and tonight I made a blizzard of blintzes. A blitz o' blintzes, if you will.
Anyone who knows me is now wondering why. After all, I hate Jewish food, with the exception of my grandfather's mondelbrodt (the Jewish biscotti). I'm the type of Jew who eats pulled pork sandwiches on Yom Kippur and then chases it down with pork juice. (It's easy to make - just squeeze the pig really hard over a glass.)
What was I saying? Oh yes - I made a ton of blintzes tonight. The reason is as follows:
My mom believes her grandmother's blintz recipe is the bee's knees and a potential lost treasure. My mom has occasionally pursued blintz-oriented business plans throughout her life, but she now might be onto something. Recently, she met Judith Jones, the famous cookbook editor who discovered Julia Childs, and, amazingly, my mom got her interested in a blintz cookbook.
Now, rest her soul, but my great-grandmother's blintz recipe is essentially the standard recipe you can find anywhere. (Eggs, milk, water, flour, salt, sugar, and love.) I think my mom knows that, so she's been coming up with surreal and abstract fillings, and has invited the entire family over next weekend to test them out.
The only problem is that my mom is very creative but doesn't quite get ingredients. Last I spoke with her, she has made and frozen: barbecue chicken with bacon; spaghetti with pork meatballs; lemon shrimp and mascarpone; hotdogs with ham and eggs.
Well, I counted four problems with this smorgasbord:
1) These combinations don't ever belong inside a blintz.
2) These combinations don't ever belong
outside a blintz.
3) If these combinations were once edible, being frozen for two weeks might not help its case.
4) None of these combinations are remotely kosher, which might be a problem when writing a cookbook on BLINTZES.
I've never made a blintz in my life and have considered them the schlamazel's crepe, but my mom, you know, gave birth to me and kept me fed/clothed for 18 years so I owe her.
I told her I'd make some blintz fillings and bring them over for the tasting.
So tonight was my dry run. I made:
1) Roasted eggplant puree
2) Mashed potatoes with mushrooms and spinach
3) Sweet potato pie
4) Raspberries with goat cheese
5) Chai roasted bananas
6) Strawberries with Nutella
I cooked like a Jew possessed. Possessed with the spirit of
Mordecai, son of Jair, tribe of Benjamin! I had four burners going on at once, dishes everywhere, the air thick with oil, powdered sugar and "fried". My smoke alarm even went off, a true sign of either cooking too much or not knowing what the hell I'm doing.
And I'm proud to say that although most of my concoctions sucked ass, I did have a couple of hits and can tweak the rest. The biggest hit, according to Jen (my wife) and Lou and Rhea (my neighbors) was the pureed roasted eggplant. In the spirit of sharing, and to give you a taste of what's to come from my mom's awesome cookbook, here's the recipe for the filling:
1. Grab a stupid-looking eggplant. Slice that shit lengthwise.
2. Preheat the oven at 350, and here's the kicker - preheat a cookie tray at 350 as well. Get that guy nice and hot.
3. While the empty tray cooks, rub your eggplant halves with olive oil, salt and freshly ground black pepper. Give it lots of oil - it'll suck it all up, just like yo mama.
4. Put the eggplant halves face down on the cookie tray. Let it cook for 45 minutes.
5. Spend the next 45 minutes listening to Rush's "Permanent Waves." Isn't "Natural Science" awesome?
6. Take out the tray and let it cool. The eggplant is gonna look all weird and shriveled, just like yo mama.
7. When it's cooled down a bit, take a spoon and scrape out the flesh. Put those tasty innards in a blender. And really work it - get all that flesh out of there, scraping the skin and whatnot. If you're hungry at this point, you can chew on the skin. It's really tasty, just like
all skin.
8. Once it's in the blender, add a heaping tablespoon or two of sour cream, maybe more pepper, a dash of dill, and blend it only for a few seconds. You want to keep it chunky, just like yo mama.
9. Mix in about 1/4 of a chopped red onion and a handful of shredded basil. Maybe a bit of cilantro if you're an asshole.
10. Put a big tablespoon of the mixture onto the crepe (buy my mom's cookbook for that recipe, cheapass), wrap that shit up, and fry that sucker in clarified butter or canola oil. Repeat with all your crepes.
11. Reward yourself with a glass of sauvignon blanc and some porn.
You are now a Superjew like me. May all your blintzes be fruitful and merry.
